


Dancing in the Dark

by Nemhaine42



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Natasha is the spy queen, Tony and Clint are kind of meanies I'm sorry, i watch too much strictly come dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemhaine42/pseuds/Nemhaine42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve never did learn how to dance. Tony is making life difficult but maybe there's someone equally close to home who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in the Dark

Steve hated fancy parties. They were mostly a lot of posturing and patting on the back of people with way too much money. Ineffectual schmoozing, for which he did not possess much talent. ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, sir’ only went so far.  Tony was like a pig in the proverbial at these things, and Thor - clearly taking advantage of his experience in the much higher court of Asgard - made a suitably regal, and annoyingly refined,  impression. But the worst, by far, was dancing. Steve had never learned to dance, not like he imagined dancing with Peggy, nor with anyone else and it was painfully obvious he was out of his depth. He’d hoped to avoid most of the teasing by way of Clint being caked in make-up in an attempt to cover up some nasty post-mission bruising. But no such luck, certainly not after Stark saw him tread on the dress of one lady from high up in the Mayoral office. Hell, at least Bruce could shuffle timidly without stepping on anyone.

 

And so, like the runt of the litter he’d always been, Steve was singled out for a great deal of ribbing which got less and less good-natured as they went on. The ride back to Stark Tower had only just been bearable, but the guys didn’t let up even when they got back to the residential area of the tower. Steve flopped down on the couch, resigned to just let the mockery flow over him and hoping for strength and a durable temper.

 

“Come on, Rogers. Didn’t they teach you that stuff when you were a chorus girl?” Stark called from the bar, where he was pouring himself whisky he really did not need.

 

“I must have had other things on my mind,” Steve replied.

 

“Yeah, he had his hands full learning his lines. Didn’t you have a cheat sheet on the back of your shield?” Clint said, chuckling into a drink of his own.  Steve’s head sank backwards and he stared at the ceiling until he felt someone clap him on the shoulder. Thor, less inebriated that the others but still further along than Steve ever could be, sat beside him and tried to offer reassurance.

 

“Fret not, my friend,” he said in a warm tone, “These things can be learned, with time and a little effort. Jane organised some brief lessons on Midgardian dancing for me with-”

 

“Pffft!” Stark interrupted, “He’s had plenty of time to go learn this shit, I bet he just sucks at it.”

 

“Or maybe I thought that saving lives and protecting people was a higher priority,” Steve snapped, “Higher than prancing around in a monkey suit like you, Stark.”

 

“Please! Even you don’t do that noble hero crap _every day_. Some of us have lives, and social skills” Stark retorted and Steve felt his temper fray.  He got up from the couch  and squared up to Tony at the bar.

 

“You just can’t stand the idea that I’ve got more worthwhile things to be doing, can you? Things that don’t involve playing second fiddle to you.”

 

“And _you_ refuse to admit that some things take charm and eloquence: stuff that didn’t come out of your little science experiment. Stuff a ‘kid from Brooklyn’ wouldn’t know much about.”

 

“Pick a date, Stark. Next swanky shindig we’re at, you can put your money where your mouth is.”

 

“Alright, Rogers! That kiddy hospital gig, when is that?” Stark proclaimed, waving his hand expectantly in the air.

 

“Approximately nine weeks from now, sir.” JARVIS answered.

 

“Good! Then I bet you, that you cannot learn to dance without making an ass of yourself. Go get lessons, try whatever you want, learn ballet for all I care! I could out-dance you after two bottles of scotch! I bet you a month’s worth of Avengers press conference duty that you can’t.”

 

“And if I win, you have to go to every single de-brief Sitwell sets up.” Steve said. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him. He knew this was a really bad idea, he was losing his temper and he had no clue how he was going to win but Stark clearly wanted to see him chicken out. And Steve was not going to give him the satisfaction, “ _And_ you gotta take things that are handed to you.”

 

“Nuh-uh, that’s two things. I only said one thing. Drop one of the things.”

 

“Do both things, but only for two weeks,” Steve conceded, it’d drive Stark just as crazy.

 

“Done. Two months from now, at that hospital fundraiser thing, you’re gonna prove me right.”

 

“We’ll see about that, Stark.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

\--

 

There had followed a lot of slamming of doors, and Steve spent a good couple of hours in the gym beating his frustration into a punching bag.  Only just now coming back up to the common area, he was very glad to find it empty. He was angry with Tony for being such a pompous jerk, and angry with himself for letting it get to him and butting heads. He despaired of how he was ever going to dig himself out of this. The fundraiser for St Jude’s Children’s Hospital was an attempt to smooth over the fact that the hospital had taken a degree of damage in the Battle of New York; the Avengers appearing would dampen some of the voices accusing them of causing havoc in the city. It would be attended by hundreds of people, so he had damn well better learn to dance. But the idea of actually going to a class made him feel like his guts had been turned to concrete. And that was if no-one recognised him. He might die of shame if Tony saw his picture in some magazine.

 

But it’d all just have to wait until morning and, for now, all Steve could do was vindictively eat Clint’s stash of peanuts from behind the bar.  Just as he’d amassed a decent pile of snacks, he heard the hiss of the elevator doors opening to reveal an entirely too tidy Natasha for such a late hour. Perhaps she’d come to tell him she could make sure he was given a ‘mission’ for the night of the fundraiser. Or to tell him exactly what an idiot he’d been. The look on the Black Widow’s face said everything. Steve was screwed. He sighed heavily and slumped onto a stool.

 

“Why did I do this to myself? I don’t need to know how to dance, I got enough on my plate already,” he moaned.

 

Natasha’s expression softened, “You don’t like Stark making fun of you, he reminds you of getting beaten up in alleyways. It shows. That’s how he can see exactly which buttons to press.”

 

He let the resignation take over and began preparing himself for just how embarrassing this whole thing was going to get. If only everything in life was as easy as beating up bad guys. Natasha, however, was not finished.

 

“Fortunately, _I’m_ here to help you,” she said, removing a small piece of paper from her pocket and sliding it along the bar towards him, “Miss Lewis isn’t a professional as such; her grandmother was a Ballroom Dancing State Champion in the 1950s, and she passed her skills along. She’s talented. And she’ll give you private lessons.”

 

Unfolding the paper, Steve saw a phone number with only ‘Miss D. Lewis’ attached. He’d heard a name like that before somewhere, but couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t sure about any of this. A part of him had committed ‘dancing’ to the life he’d left behind, not that he’d actually done any, and was anxious about the fact that Tony might be right: maybe he just couldn’t do it.

 

“Next time you get a moment, give her a call. Arrange to meet her somewhere that isn’t here. I think Thursdays are good for her,” Natasha said. She patted him on the arm and left him to mull it over.   

 

Steve was a little frightened of a contact that came from the Black Widow but, as Natasha walked back towards the elevator, he figured nothing could be worse than the humiliation he’d bring upon himself if he did nothing.

 

“And wear nice shoes!” Natasha called.

 

\--

 

After an awkward, halting conversation - during which he gave his name as ‘James Barnes’ - Steve arranged to meet Miss Lewis at a small dance studio some ways north of the tower. Even on the phone, she’d sounded familiar but she refused to divulge her full name and so he was still stuck. From the sidewalk he could see the top floor light was on, and a woman’s silhouette paced gently past the window. Steeling himself, he swung the door open. He hadn’t thought at all about what he was going to say to this lady; ‘hey my friend is going to embarrass me in front of a lot of people if I don’t learn how to do this’? ‘I really don’t think I can do this, but I’ve got to try’? He might just stick to ‘sorry if I step on your toes.’

 

His heart was in his throat as he laid his hand on the door to the studio. What was he so nervous for? It’s not like this - even if it went terribly - would kill him. But that didn’t seem to make much of a difference. He cracked open the door and gingerly poked his head in. From there he could see a small, shapely young woman in short heels and a flouncy skirt fiddling with a CD player. She was far softer, less taut and athletic-looking than he’d imagined a dance teacher and, when she turned round to greet him, she was definitely someone familiar.

 

“Hey, Cap. Come on in,” she said, waving him over.

 

“Darcy? Hi,” he muttered, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Dr Foster’s assistant wasn’t really what you’d call a stranger: the two women flitted about the tower, pestering Tony for materials, or quizzing Thor about Bifrost science. Busy, but always waving hello as they passed by. But he’d never heard anything about Darcy being a dancer. Then again, he hadn’t even registered her surname was Lewis. He stood by the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling stupid at not having figured out who she was. No way this wasn’t going to get around the tower. The others had already figured out tonight was his first dance lesson, and had teased him mercilessly on his way out.

 

“I recognised your voice, you know. On the phone,” Darcy prompted softly, “I don’t know who _James Barnes_ is, but he’s not getting a dancing lesson tonight.”

 

“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, I…”

 

“S’okay. I get it. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. It can be our little secret,” she said, winking, “Ours and Natasha’s.”

 

Steve, relieved and grateful for her discretion, grinned and stepped further into the room.  The sprung floor smelled strongly of polish and the left wall was entirely taken up by a large mirror.  He took in just how scruffy and unprepared he looked, next to Darcy’s effortless femininity. He tried for an apologetic smile and shrugged.

 

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” he asked.

 

“You ever danced before?”

 

“Nope. Never. Nothing.” he answered, feeling his grin slip and embarrassment creep its way in.

 

“Fresh meat, huh? Well, this can go one of two ways,” she said, fixing him with the kind of knowing smile he might sooner expect from Natasha, “Either I can actually teach you the ins and outs of Waltz or Tango or whatever, which I don’t really think is going to be of much use in the long term. Or I can teach you how to not trip all over yourself, and then spend two months making you memorize some smoking hot choreographed routine which will make Stark wonder what’s in his drink. Your choice.”

 

Steve chewed his lips, pretending to think his choice over, “I like the second one.”

 

All in all, Steve’s very first dance lesson was not terrible. Darcy promised to do some research and find a routine to make Tony eat his words, and then set about trying to teach him not to look like an utter novice. She corrected his posture, pushed his shoulders down and his chin up. She had his right hand supporting her back, rather than just clinging feebly to her waist. He did have to contain a squeak when she’d pressed herself up against him, not a hair’s breadth between them, with an instruction to avoid something called ‘gapping’. She’d made him practice a basic box step, counting aloud the ‘1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3’ of the Waltz.

 

“Your muscles will memorize the movement after a while,” she said, “Obviously, the more you practice, the less time it’ll take. But I understand how that might be a little impractical.”

 

Steve nodded, still staring down at his feet. He was supposed to lead but he didn’t want to just send his leg out for it to collide with hers. That never happened though, as Darcy would float backwards whenever he moved. A lot of the whole business of dancing seemed far more technical than Steve had initially thought; it removed some of the romance, which would, hopefully, make him less nervous.

 

“Next time, I want you to wear dress shoes,” she said, eyes running up and down his khaki pants and brown sneakers, “And dress pants. In fact, just wear your fancy get-up. I know it’s probably uncomfortable but we want to get you used to wearing it, and moving around in it.”

 

Steve was not in the least bit fond of his tux.  Tony had badgered him into getting it made to measure, so it wasn’t as if it didn’t fit him. But it wasn’t like the uniform he’d had in the army. The materials were different, as was the cut, and he didn’t feel like himself in it. But Darcy had a point: he’d have to perform this dance in that suit whether he liked it or not. He might as well get used to it.

 

\--

 

A day or so after, a sign appeared on the fridge in the bar. It was divided in two, with Steve’s name on one side and Tony’s on the other. Underneath, a few people had written their names and an amount of money they were betting on one or the other. When curiosity got the better of him, he noticed that the sign itself seemed to be in Bruce’s handwriting. He wasn’t surprised to see Clint had bet against him, but a little hurt at seeing Tony’s list was longer than his. After that, he vowed not to look at it again.

 

\--

 

Steve’s second lesson started off much the same as the previous. More practice of basic steps and hold, this time with the added nuisance of trying to get used to dressy clothes while doing it. He was grateful when Darcy told him he could take off the jacket - that was the worst bit, it felt restrictive on his shoulders - but the relief was quickly replaced by panic when she showed him a video clip on her phone of the routine she wanted him to learn.

 

“Relax, Steve,” she said through a giggle and lightly punched his arm, “Some of that stuff’s too complicated for me too. We’ll cut out most of those crazy lifts and turn the speed down a lot.”

 

The routine had, in fact, been choreographed by a dance major friend of Darcy’s for a show last year and not for some greenhorn superhero trying to get out of press duty. It was called an Argentine Tango and _definitely_ wasn’t like the Waltz she’d been teaching him. It was far sexier and promised a profusion of bruised shins before he got it right.

 

There was plenty of foot play involved, and a lot of kicking around each other’s legs. Darcy wanted to keep one of the lifts in, which required him to wrap his arm around her waist and raise her up off the ground. She would lean her head back onto his shoulder, widen the angle between her legs and he would spin them around. It exposed her neck right next to his face and Steve struggled to keep himself from turning his head and breathing deeply.

 

\--

 

Steve thought Darcy was a brilliant dancer. But he also came to realise she wasn’t too shabby an actor either. Their paths crossed during the rest of the week every now and then, but neither of them gave away the fact that they were on increasingly good terms. Courteous nods in corridors, a ‘good morning’ here and a ‘what’s up’ there. Steve had to acknowledge the presence of butterflies in his stomach when they passed each other. The secrecy was exciting, especially surrounded by people who often made it their business to know everything. But there was also something about Darcy that had Steve’s gaze following her until she was totally out of sight. He’d once walked into Pepper Potts while looking the opposite way but, luckily, that hadn’t gotten out.

 

\--

 

At their next lesson, Darcy had a bruise on her arm. It was the result of one of Jane’s pieces of equipment getting stuck underneath another and, with neither of the girls able to move it, Thor had pulled it free. He had done so with great force and knocked Darcy’s forearm with his elbow by accident.  Steve saw her wince a couple of times and began asserting that they should go home, that Darcy should be resting her arm and not dancing, if it was causing her pain.

 

“Steeeeve, it’s fine,” she whined.

 

“It’s hurting you,” he said, “you should be putting ice on it.”

 

“I’ve had ice on it all day,” she said, making a show of bending and twisting her arm, “Yes, it’s a bruise. Yes, it hurts a little bit. But it’s not broken, it’ll be healed by next week.”

 

He sighed in relent and approached her to get into hold. He didn’t really want to stop the lesson, but he didn’t want Darcy hurting just for his sake either.

 

“You at least went to a doctor, right?”

 

“Yes, I went to the doctor,” she said. It sounded like a flat out lie and Steve fixed her with a playfully suspicious look.

 

“I went to Moira the First Aid Lady. She counts,” Darcy said. She gave him an exaggerated pout and stomped her foot, “Are you going to dance with me or not, soldier?”

 

Steve knew an order when he heard one.

 

\--

 

After several Thursdays, Clint and Tony seemed to get bored of ragging on Steve for taking lessons. It had been made clear he was going to continue them, regardless of the teasing. They still made some sort of noise as he went out the door - “Spin me faster, Tony!”, “You’re still my best girl, Clint!” - but it was all gentle enough for Steve not to care. Since he’d even seen Bruce crack a smile in the background once, he figured he’d let it slide.

 

Steve would even chance sitting on the couch in his dress clothes afterwards. Darcy was right; he was getting more and more used to being in them. So it just became a habit to relax and watch whatever the guys were watching without bothering to change. His newfound comfort meant Tony didn’t have a lot to poke fun at. It also, regrettably, meant Tony would jump at the slightest opportunity.

 

“This dance class of yours, it must be full of chicks. Is there someone we should know about?” he asked and, seeing Steve’s confusion, made a ridiculous impression of his dreamy, dazed look.

 

“That was not my face,” Steve said.

 

“It was a little bit your face,” Clint countered.

 

Okay, he liked Darcy. A lot. And, _maybe_ , it was starting to show. She was kind and patient, funny and sarcastic without being caustic. She didn’t treat him like an uninformed anachronism, even as she taught him something he’d had no previous experience of.  He thought about her all week and he was pretty sure it was heading towards a full blown crush. Part of him wanted to deny it, wanted to brush it off as just being the results of the close contact that their dancing brought about. It would lessen the blow perhaps after this whole thing was over, if she didn’t reciprocate. But another side wanted to shout to all the world, or the whole tower anyway, that Darcy was talented and fun and she wasn’t dancing with anybody else, she was dancing with _him_. But there was no way he was going to confess any of that in front of Tony and he was keen to avoid the topic.

 

“Stark, do you actually think I’m dumb enough to go to a class full of other people?” Steve said, not looking around.

 

“Private teaching, huh?” Bruce said with a smile, “Nice.”

 

Tony, however, practically spat out his drink and cackled raucously, “Ha! So it’s the _horizontal tango_ you’re doing? Well, I never knew you had it in you!”

 

Bruce winced apologetically and Steve let his head fall backwards and smacked it off the back of the couch a couple of times. He heard the laughter cut short, and turned to see Thor standing over Stark with a displeased glare.

 

“I am sure Captain Rogers would not be so dishonourable as to cast his lady tutor into disrepute,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “if that expression means what I think it means.”

 

“Relax, Thunderbird,” Tony said and brought his hands up defensively, “We’re just joshing. Captain Apple Pie probably hasn’t even side-eyed her butt across the room.”

 

This did not seem to do much to assuage the God of Thunder, so Tony got up from his armchair and waved his hand over a spot on the wall, bringing up a computer interface. Thor had changed to eyeballing Steve instead - which was mildly terrifying - so Tony seized the chance to change tack.

 

“So what’s her name, anyways?” he said, bringing up a search engine, “We’ll google her.”

 

Steve knew Tony wouldn’t be as forgetful as he had been; he’d know exactly who Darcy Lewis was. And he did not want Darcy to be on the receiving end of any of the ridicule that he put up with.

 

“No!” Steve growled, “No. You can make fun of me as much as you want - and God knows you will - but you leave her alone.” He knew how serious he must have sounded, and it wouldn’t do much to evade the ‘crush on your teacher’ jokes but he didn’t care. Darcy didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from anyone, “She’s just doing her job, and you’re not going to pick on her for it. You got that?”

 

“Alrighty,” Tony said, eyebrows almost at his hairline. Between Thor’s outburst and his, Steve realized a little too late that they might come across as being in cahoots. It begged the question: was Thor in on it? Had Darcy told him? How much did he know? He’d occasionally seen Thor conspiring with Natasha, whispering to one another briefly, but hadn’t really paid it much mind.

 

Deciding now was the moment to escape Steve made for the elevator, giving Thor a pointed look that made sure he’d follow before addressing Tony, “If you think of any more childish nicknames for me, let me know.”

 

Sure enough, Thor came after him into the elevator and, once the doors closed, lost no time getting in Steve’s face.

 

“I do not know the happenings of your lessons with Darcy but you _will_ treat her with the respect she deserves as your instructor,” he said in a harsh whisper.

 

“Hey, no sweat,” Steve pleaded, “It’s not like that. Darcy and I are friends. But we want to keep it on the sly until I can win this stupid bet.”

 

Thor considered this for a few moments, before nodding and backing off to a more comradely distance. The elevator doors parted again for Thor’s floor first and he stood in the doorway, still staring at Steve.

 

“Darcy is very taken with you, Captain.” Thor said, “It would be a shame if her affection was misplaced.”

 

Taken with him, huh? That thought made Steve feel light as air and, grinning madly, he did a couple of spins as he entered his apartment. He now had a whole week to build that up in his head.

 

\--

 

Darcy eventually added turns and pivots into his Waltz repertoire, so that he could travel around a dancefloor. She concluded that that was about enough for a man who only grudgingly went to social functions where it’d be necessary but determined they’d keep practicing at the start of every lesson so it became fluid and natural for him.

 

But Steve would happily never dance again, if he only got to do this Argentine Tango with Darcy once. There were still bits he struggled with; he forgot his steps, or was too fast, or too slow. But the biggest hurdle was often his awkward-looking free hand. Most of the routine was in hold; his hands were wherever they needed to be to support Darcy as she moved. But here and there she did some extensions and spun away from him. Even though it would only be a second before both his hands had a correct place again, Steve still fretted about what to do with them while they didn’t.

 

“There’s not really a right answer for that,” Darcy admitted, “I mean, it’s pretty much up to you what your free arm does. A lot of it is about interpreting the music and the way the dance feels and acting it.”

 

Steve didn’t think he was going to get good enough at dancing to be able to do that. But as they tackled one step that had Darcy sliding her leg up the outside of his, he reached down to brush his hand over her calf. He didn’t need to do that, her leg was going to slide, _gloriously_ , back down again but it certainly felt good to do it. And Darcy had told him it’d look good too.

 

\--

 

The only good thing about Darcy catching the flu was that it coincided nicely with Steve breaking his arm. The Hulk had bulldozed his way through a wall and Steve had barely made it out of the way. His bones knitted themselves back together quickly enough but he was told to rest so dance class was on hold for that week. At least it saved anyone noticing that Darcy _and_ Steve’s teacher happened to get sick at exactly the same time.

 

Steve had flowers sent to her apartment, and had the girl in the store sign them “James B.”  It patently got him back in Thor’s good books, who beamed at him every chance he got. Darcy later told him that, in response to queries about the identity of ‘James B’, she’d replied, “He’s a total dweeb, that’s who.”

 

He saw through her smile that she liked him being a dweeb and Steve made a mental note not to wait until she was sick to send more.

 

\--

 

Steve had never noticed the lights on in the building opposite their studio before.  Not with the blinds up, anyway.  And _definitely_ not with three figures staring across at them. One of them _even waved at him_!

 

Darcy noticed straight away that something was off; Steve messed up the same step four times before she stopped to ask what was bothering him so much.  Still in the close and intimate hold the dance required, she followed his line of sight out the window.

 

“What? Them? They’ve been watching us since like week two, you know.” she said, unperturbed.

 

“ _What?!_ ” Steve gasped and broke out of hold, “What if they see who I am, Darcy? Can’t we shut the blinds?”

 

“Well A, they can’t see your face from all the way over there,” Darcy said. She brought her arms around his waist and, pulling him in for a hug, looked up at him sympathetically, “and B, there’s going to be way more eyes on us at that fundraiser than three old ladies with no cable. Think of it as a compliment; they’re watching because you’re good at it.”

 

“Right” Steve said. He wasn’t altogether convinced, he could feel apprehension starting to set in. Dancing like this in private was one thing, in front of hundreds of important people was another.  He was dreading the moment he caught Tony Stark’s eye while he was trying not to kick Darcy’s shin. He heard her ‘tsk’ and she brought her hands up to cup his face so he was looking directly at her, and nothing else. He could see his terror-stricken face reflected in her glasses.

 

“Hey, don’t be nervous. You can do this. I’d be telling you if you couldn’t,” she said, smiling and holding his gaze.  She always felt so warm when she held herself to him and he just wanted to tip his head forward and get even closer.

 

“Don’t focus on anybody else,” she said, “the only other person you should be thinking about is me. Like we’re the only two people in the world.”

 

In that moment, he never wanted to let go of her again. Her breath tickled his lips and he desperately wanted to kiss her. He swallowed and brought his mouth closer and closer to hers, constantly checking for signs she didn’t want this. Just as her eyes began to drift shut, and he revelled in the surge of heated adrenaline that rushed through his chest, the music on the CD changed to a loud, up-tempo track. They jumped and pulled apart.  Steve inwardly cursed his bad luck.

 

Breathing deeply and flushed in the face, Darcy rushed to reset the music. “Let’s go over it again. And, uh, never mind our audience.”

 

\--

 

Across from the lights of the dance studio, Luisa Harman, 82, shouted to her friend and sister-in-law, “Aw come on! They were so damn close!”

 

\--

 

When Steve returned to the tower, mind still reeling from what could have been, he found Tony flipping through several pages of a printed list with a highlighter pen, discussing something with Clint and Natasha.

 

“What about that Robinson lady? Tell her to wear a short skirt this time?” suggested Clint.

 

“Nah. I wanna go for somebody fresh.” Tony said, “We need to pick someone who’ll make it as difficult for him as possible because I am _not_ going to any debriefings if I can help it.”

 

“What are you guys doing?” Steve asked in a suspicious voice. He knew they were plotting something for him.

 

“We’re choosing your victim, Rogers.” Tony responded, not even a little phased by Steve’s sudden appearance, and waved the pile of paper in his hand, “Confirmed guest list for the hospital fundraiser. So let’s see, now that he’s right in front of us, what’ll really grind his gears?”

 

“He’s tall: pick someone short,” said Clint, who looked him up and down.

 

“He likes feisty girls,” said Natasha. She gave him a pointed look which he took to mean she was still on his side. Natasha had admitted she put money on Steve winning so she wasn’t about to turn traitor now.

 

“What about that Darcy chick from Foster’s lab?” Clint tried.

 

“Yes!” Tony exclaimed, snapping his fingers and flipping ahead a few pages purposefully, “Yes, he likes her. I’ve seen him getting all gooey-eyed when she and Foster come to mooch my tech. Perfect.”

 

Tony was grinning, eyes wide with excitement with the thought that he’d chosen someone Steve would loathe to embarrass. Steve just tried to hide the relief on his face. His refusal to reveal exactly who he was learning from had paid off but there was definitely someone else’s hand in here. Neither Jane nor Darcy ever usually got invited to things like this. He suspected Natasha had already done a lot of work; setting everything up so it all looked mostly coincidental. At least to Tony, which was all that mattered.

 

“Is she seeing anyone? I heard something about a guy called James.” Natasha added. She was really making Steve stretch his acting skills, he now had to turn a bubble of laughter into tight-lipped concern.

 

“Meh, there’s no plus one on the list. I guess she’s flying solo, if for one night only.” Tony said, “Plus that makes it sweeter: embarrass, and probably step on, the girl he likes at a party full of big wigs. And then every time he’s doing press on TV, she can point at him and tell her _boyfriend_ what a dork Captain America is. Sounds awesome to me.”

 

“That’s settled, then,” Tony continued, “You’ll dance with Darcy ‘Have You Seen My Taser?’ Lewis, or it doesn’t count. Got it, Cappie?”

 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve said. He just hoped Tony didn’t catch the grin on his face as he left.

 

\--

 

Steve did not have sexy dreams about Darcy. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not a single one.

 

The only racy dreams he had still featured Peggy Carter. Peggy, who spoke in Darcy’s voice. Or wore Darcy’s clothes. And waltzed with him around that old bar in London the way Darcy had taught him to.

 

He didn’t remember that bar having an enormous mirror along one wall. Or the music being so… un-waltzy. He stopped, resting his forehead on Peggy’s who now had taken possession of Darcy’s glasses as well. He squeezed her hand, he didn’t feel warm at all. Nor did he want to dance since he could feel Bucky and Dum Dum and everybody watching him. He frowned and clamped his eyes shut; he _wanted_ that hot, fluttering feeling in his stomach. He _wanted_ that breathy excitement he’d shared with... He _wanted_ …

 

Darcy.

 

His eyes popped open and there she was, right in front of him.  Only they weren’t in that bar in England, they were in the tower common area. It was Tony and Clint and Thor watching them instead.

 

And none of it mattered. He didn’t care who was watching as Darcy slid her hands around his neck and down the back of his shirt. Their lips met in a hard kiss and Steve felt all that heat rush through his blood. He threaded his hands through her hair and Darcy hooked one of her legs around his hip. He wanted more of her, all that he could get. He fell backwards, somehow knowing there was a safe landing beneath him, feeling like his chest might burst.

 

There was a hard, stabbing pain in his forehead and Steve woke sharply with a snort. He’d rolled over and smacked his head off the bedside table. 4.47am? He growled in frustration at the sight of his dark and empty bedroom. He was painfully hard and, as he sat up, had to palm his hand over his erection to relieve some of the feeling. There was no way he’d get back to sleep, so he got up and decided to try to finish that dream in the shower.

 

\--

 

Natasha had, indeed, worked exceedingly hard to ensure Steve came out on top. From the moment the two boys had started their argument, she’d wanted Stark to lose. And she knew damn well that that wasn’t going to happen if she left Rogers to his own devices. A sure-footed and stout-hearted leader he might be, but his social graces and confidence with women could certainly use some improvement.

 

In all truth, it was Thor who gave her the idea to approach Darcy. He’d been interrupted by Stark before he could mention her name and Natasha had quickly told him not to. Once Tony and Steve’s bickering had come to an end, the former retreating to his workshop and the latter ensconced in the gym, she and Thor pleaded their case to Darcy. She wasn’t a pro, but that was all the better. No-one would suspect her. It was all a matter of making as many people as possible see as little as possible. All she really  needed Stark to do was shoot himself in the foot by picking Darcy out for Steve to dance with. She’d gotten Pepper on their side, to make sure everyone working in Jane Foster’s lab received an invite. And she’d quizzed Darcy about what kind of music she’d need, and ensuring the right song was on the band’s set list. The two women had used Thor as messenger so that, again, no-one would be inclined to think Darcy was more involved.  

 

Natasha had needed to devise a pattern in which Steve and Darcy returned separately to the tower; Steve made it home around pretty much the same time every Thursday, actually leaving far longer between the end of the lesson and getting back than it took to walk the distance. This allowed Darcy to change around the times when she got home. Mostly, she’d stay at the studio or grab a drink somewhere before heading back.  Other times, she walked ahead of Steve and got back before him. And every now and then, they’d arrive at the same time claiming to have found each other outside the tower. Because, sometimes, coincidences just happen.  

 

Darcy had surprised her with the ingenuity of passing off the dance lessons as dates with Steve’s attempted alias. Thursday was already ‘date night’ for Thor and Jane (something about it being _his_ day), so Darcy wanting out of their apartment for the evening was understandable to begin with.

 

She hadn’t really planned on Steve getting so sincerely starry-eyed over his teacher. The only way in which it hindered her plan was that, eventually, Stark would want to know how they’d gotten to know each other beyond casual acquaintances. But Natasha could hear already Steve’s voice echoing in her head, “Mind your own damn business, Stark.”

 

\--

 

The first time Steve pulled off their routine without a hitch, he didn’t even notice.

 

He’d been occupied with imagining what Darcy would be wearing to the fundraiser.  She and Jane had gone shopping for outfits, and returned with a variety of bags none of which leant any idea towards their actual contents. He only knew this because Thor had told him so, describing how it seemed “in every realm women’s clothing is fathomless”. He had, somewhat shyly, questioned Steve about what exactly the girls might be purchasing, beyond the obvious matter of dresses. Steve’s brain had instantly become fixed on stockings. Slightly sheer ones, with seams up the back. He knew women didn’t wear those anymore but, well, a guy can dream. He’d mumbled some sort of commiserative answer and spent the rest of the day trying not to think about Darcy in stockings with seams.

 

He’d tried his best but failed quite miserably. When he’d walked into the studio for practice, the first thing he’d noticed was that Darcy wore dark pantyhose. Dark purple, in that instance. And it had been downhill from then on as his imagination brushed away the eggplant colour and replaced it with the shaded, creamy beige of light skin under nylon. In his mind’s eye was a thin, black line that ran all the way over the curve of her calf, past the dip at the back of her knee and up her thigh where it vanished under her skirt. Even when he couldn’t look directly at Darcy’s legs, he could feel them moving around his own. Their final step - which ended up with Darcy’s leg over his hip - became his new favourite thing.

 

When the music came to a stop, the haze that had come over his brain lifted and he saw Darcy grinning from ear to ear. She leapt out of hold and bounced around the room.

 

“Oh my god, Steve, that was fantastic!” she exclaimed, “You were so good! I knew you could do it. Let’s do it again, let’s do it again!”

 

The second time Steve danced faultlessly, he felt himself do it. The success and Darcy’s praise gave him a hot, bubbly emotion - a mix of pride and adoration - which made him feel like he could dance on Nick Fury’s desk and hardly give a damn.

 

“Man, whoever calls first dibs on you won’t know what they’re getting,” Darcy said, still stoked.  His little puff of pride vanished into thin air at her words; surely they’d be going together?  He didn’t want to dance with anyone else, he didn’t even think he could stand the idle chatter without her. And he certainly didn’t want to have to watch Darcy with some other guy either.

 

“Aren’t… aren’t _you_ calling first dibs on me?” he asked. He was suddenly struck by the fear that he’d called this all wrong. Maybe she only wanted to be friends? Was he asking too much of her?

 

“Well, Natasha said the band won’t play our song until like halfway through their set.” she explained, gesturing to the CD player, “I figured it would look kinda suspect if we went together straight away…”

 

He knew she was right. Tony would spot them together and realise something was afoot. Stark had to think Darcy was nothing more than the girl he picked out for Steve, someone who might get flustered at being asked to dance with Captain America, until the very last minute. That didn’t mean Steve had to like it though. Would she still get to sit with them, by virtue of Jane being with Thor? Or would she be sitting at a table on her own with a bunch of flashy doctors from the hospital, one of whom looked a lot like Howard Stark in his head. But Darcy was still right. Stark would call it cheating, if he knew Darcy was involved the whole time.  Informing him he’d been played would only work after the fact.

 

Darcy clearly saw the disappointment and irritation on his face, and took his hand in hers, “It’s only for a little while. Dance with Pepper, it’ll annoy Tony. And then we can rub it in his face the whole rest of the night, if you want.”

 

“I’ll hold you to it, Miss Lewis,” he said, swallowing the possessiveness. None of it was her fault, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t put a little more intensity into their next run-through; held her a little bit tighter, pulled her a little bit closer.  He made very little effort to conceal how he smelled Darcy’s hair during their lift. And it would be a complete and utter fabrication to say he didn’t like the way Darcy’s breath fluttered at the end of it.

 

\--

 

The sooner Thursdays became the day Steve looked forward to the most, the sooner they seemed to fly by at double the speed.  Darcy had brought in CDs with versions of their song played by different bands, so they could both adapt to a slightly altered tempo but it didn’t make for much of a speed bump. By the time they got to their last practice before the fundraiser, they’d gotten the dance down to a fine art. But it was bittersweet; they would never be there again. And they only got to dance one more time. No more run-throughs, no more practice. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with himself every week.  Well, depending on how the following evening went, he might be spending a lot of his time in front of packs of reporters.

 

\--

 

It became clear to Steve that, no matter how much he may have improved at dancing, he would likely never enjoy fancy parties.  He was accustomed to the clothes and the shoes now but that was about it. But it was still sitting through presentations, speeches, and hanging around with a drink in his hand that didn’t do a damn thing for him. Although this time there was the added burden of severely regretting not asking Darcy to be his date. He’d worried he might have to pick his jaw up off the floor when he’d first seen her: in a red dress - _why did it have to be red? Dames in red dresses would be the death of him_ \- with a slit up one thigh and a lacy back.

 

Darcy, Jane and Dr Selvig had been seated away from the Avengers, at a table with representatives from various companies. Steve had been able to see from quite a distance that Jane Foster was capable of blasting others with science that ensured they were aware _she_ knew what she was talking about, even if _they_ didn’t. As Darcy and Jane had been the youngest people at that table by a long shot, Steve had shut the green eyed monster away. But as he settled by the bar - after having escaped a conversation with a man with very in-depth opinions about Captain America comic books - he scanned the room only to see Darcy was not at her table with Erik, nor was she with Jane and Thor.  He knew he shouldn’t give in to the jealousy causing him to look in every corner for her, but he did. He was seriously entertaining the idea of asking Hawkeye to spot her for him when Tony and Pepper appeared in his peripheral vision.

 

“I don’t care how many fanboys you find here tonight, Rogers, you’re still going to have to find Lewis and ask her to dance,” Tony said.

 

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Steve replied.

 

“Yeah and if you think I’m letting you off the hook with _only_ dancing with Miss Political Science, you’re so wrong,” Tony said smugly, “I wanna see what you’ve ‘learned’ Twinkle Toes. Ask someone.”

 

Stark was clearly out to annoy him so he took some of Darcy’s advice and returned the favour.

 

“That’s a great idea,” Steve said, “Miss Potts, would you like to dance?”

 

“Oh, why thank you.” Pepper replied, showing immense pleasure at the spluttering noises coming from Tony.  She took his proffered hand and they made their way onto the dancefloor. Steve brought her close to his chest noting that, while Pepper was an exceedingly beautiful woman, she did not feel the same as Darcy. Taller, thinner, less striking curves. He also used their movement around the floor to look for his girl hidden among the suits and ties, not quite realising how obvious he was being.

 

“She’s behind you, you know,” Pepper said, raising her eyebrows to his six o’clock. Steve spun Pepper and whirled them both around so he could catch a glimpse of Darcy. Pepper struggled to suppress a giggle at just how focused he was. Steve went for an apologetic smile and he could see she wasn’t really all that put out by his distraction. He took a closer look over to where Darcy was dancing, far less intimately, with a slim, dark-skinned man in glasses.

 

“Do you know who that guy is?” he asked, not looking back at Pepper who sneaked a glance over her shoulder.

 

“He’s somebody Williams,” she replied, “He works for a pharmaceutical company based in Virginia.”

 

Darcy appeared comfortable and content, and there seemed to be nothing wrong with this Williams guy. So there was no reason at all for Steve’s covetousness. But _dear God in heaven_ were those seams on her tights? He dearly hoped he’d not accidentally said something about stockings out loud.

 

“I understand your preoccupation, Steve” said Pepper, “but you might want to reign it in a little.  Tony’s starting to laugh at your serious face.”

 

Looking back, he could see Tony staring at the pair of them, and probably had been the whole time, whilst talking to Barton with a smirk. Stark was likely taking Steve’s wistful distraction as awkwardness. Though it was no bad thing - it would lull him into false confidence - Steve still didn’t like the idea of Tony having the upper hand and brought his attention back to Pepper.

 

“This is one of those ‘the less I know, the better’ things, isn’t it?” she asked, “You and Natasha have something planned and I’m not going to ask what it is.”

 

Steve gave her a lopsided smile as the song ended and he returned her to their previous spot. He saw Darcy walk back to Dr Selvig and wanted to just march over and sweep her away now, rather than wait any longer. But he waited and drank a scotch in the hopes of a placebo effect. It struck him how ridiculous he was being; he _could_ just ask Darcy to dance. He _could_ do it now. He wanted to. But their plan hinged on him not doing it now, so he had to force down the ball of restless excitement.

 

Natasha had told him there’d be a signal.  She hadn’t told him what it would consist of but out of the corner of his eye he saw her whispering to Tony and it clicked. She’d made Stark think he was throwing Steve a curve ball by making him dance to whatever came on next, when Natasha knew exactly which song would be waiting for them. Stark strode purposefully towards him and fixed him with a gratified smirk.

 

“Okay, time’s up Ginger Rogers,” he said, “You _waltz_ on over and win me my bet.”

 

Steve swallowed and looked towards Darcy. She caught his eye and blushed, despite the fact that Dr Selvig was still talking to her. He took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, he heard Tony scoff at him but walked off without sparing him a second glance. The music would have an introductory section which they had no choreography for, so he didn’t have to hurry. Darcy smiled knowingly as he approached her table.

 

“Darcy, all I’m saying is that if this James guy likes you so much, why didn’t he come here with you?” said Erik.

 

Darcy’s smile widened and Steve felt his own mimic it.

 

“I can’t say I’m complaining, Dr Selvig,” Steve said, “since I’d like to ask Miss Lewis to dance.”

 

“I guess I’ll give it a shot” Darcy replied, with no attempt hide her acting. It left a puzzled expression on Erik’s face but they both ignored it as Darcy lead him to a spot on the dancefloor.

 

He heard the music approaching their cue and brought his hands to hold Darcy the way they’d practiced for weeks. It felt like coming home; like the stuffy ballroom and all the people in it melted away.

 

“Just you and me, right?” he whispered.

 

They locked eyes and moved in unison. The other couples on the floor soon parted to give them more space once it was obvious there was more happening than the usual amateur antics. But Steve didn’t notice. He immersed himself in the sensations he never wanted to get used to: Darcy’s muscles shifting beneath his hands. Her breath against his cheek. His calves on hers and his foot against her ankle. He was flooded with all the emotions he’d built up - the passion, the lust, their connection as the steps that once seemed so complicated and intimidating passed in fluid, almost effortless, motion. Forgotten as soon as they arrived.

 

Their lift meant breaking the powerful eye contact. He could stare into her sparkling eyes forever but settled for breathing in the scent at her neck, like he could practically sink his teeth in, as he lifted her into his arms as if she was air.  After that, what little space there was between their bodies felt like broad canyons separating him from her. He _needed_ to be as close to her as he could get. Needed to kiss her, to hold her and all this was just a long, winding path towards her.

 

He didn’t want it to end, even as he counted felt the final few kicks and spins. He was addicted to the heat in his blood, to the way Darcy’s chest heaved as she inhaled, to this curtain that drew around them and blocked out the rest of the world. But end it did, as the sumptuous curve of Darcy’s leg wound itself around his hip and her weight rested on him. Their noses brushed and they stilled.

 

They were brought abruptly out of their little world by applause and the flash of a few cameras. Both out of breath, they came back to a standing position but did not want to let go. Not now. Not ever. Steve bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to Darcy’s cheek.

 

“Thank you, Miss Lewis,” he whispered.

 

“You’re welcome, Captain Rogers,” she said in turn. Her smile lit up her face once more and her eyes darted over to the crowd still staring and snapping photos. This would be on the internet within 0.2 seconds.

 

“Drink?” he asked.

 

“Oh yeah, I definitely need some vodka.”

 

They made their way back to the bar, no words passing between them as they heard the crowd’s murmurs grow in volume. Darcy seemed happy yet slightly embarrassed at so much attention, so Steve placed one hand the back of her waist and guided her out onto a balcony behind glass doors. He distinctly heard Tony complaining, wondering loudly just how much of it was a set-up, and Pepper half-heartedly comforting him.

 

“Honey, they played you like a piano. Just take it like a man.”

 

Once outside, the night air made him realise just how hot he was and they both let out long, relieved sighs.  There was a quiet second before they burst into exhilarated laughter.

 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Darcy gasped, “That was so amazing.”

  


“ _You_ can’t believe it? Two months ago, I would have fallen on my face doing half of that stuff,” he said, still chuckling, “You’re the dancer.”

 

“Pfft, ten years ago maybe. I didn’t go near competitive dancing after I was 14.”

 

“Aw, now you tell me,” he teased.

 

Their laughter petered out into the night, music could be heard once again from inside, and Darcy sighed almost mournfully.

 

“I’ll miss our Thursdays.” she said, still looking out into the city lights. Her hair tickled her neck in the breeze, where his mouth had been so close scant minutes ago. The thought that Darcy would not want what he did once their scheme had been pulled off had gnawed at the back of his mind for weeks, but now he couldn’t just let her go. He had to try and keep her close or he’d hate himself for the cowardice.

 

“What if…” he started, “what if we didn’t stop? I mean, it wouldn’t have to be dancing…”

 

“That’s good, ‘cause I handed back the keys to the studio this morning.”

 

“I’m serious. I want to take you out, have dinner, catch a movie…. Whatever you want.”

 

“Really? You and me?”

  


“You and me,” he said softly. He brought his hand up to cradle her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled back to look at her, Darcy flung her arms around his neck and pulled him back down. He moved his hands down to her waist and tugged her in closer. He knew, as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, that they’d need to go back inside and face the others, not to mention his actual role of promoting the hospital. But that could wait until later. Much later.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr (as Nemhaine42) for a long post with notes and links for you to enjoy.


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